The Voice in Your Head May Not Be God
by Rachel Wilder
Summary: It Could Just Be Slammin' Sammy Meade  Quitting the team, quitting Dillon, Tim and Jason hit the road for Mexico.


**The Voice in Your Head May Not Be God—It Could Just Be Slammin' Sammy Meade**

Jason pulled his truck up in the driveway and sat for a moment. The lights were on and he could see his mom moving in the living room.

_"I'm not here to be a mascot," Jason said as he came into the head coach's office._

_"I'm not sure what your arrangement was with Coach Taylor, but as you can tell, Coach Taylor is in Austin now. I'm the head coach of the Dillon Panthers," McGregor replied._

_"Yeah, that's pretty obvious," Jason retorted._

_"What was that, Jason?"_

_"Coach Taylor would never have let things get like that between Smash and Saracen. He never would have let them fight out on the field. 'Course it wouldn't have happened to begin with because he ran a balanced offense. You think this 'All Smash, All the Time' is going to work? 'Cause I know Smash Williams and when he's good, he's very good, but when he's off, you're not going to win a game in a million years. He's a head case, Coach. And when that happens, you're not going to have Saracen or Riggins or anyone else to turn to."_

_"You got anything else to say, Street?" the coach asked._

_"Yeah," Jason replied. "I quit."_

It was time to go in and face the music. Jason opened the truck door, then reached behind the seat to pull out his chair. He popped the wheels back on and then eased from the truck seat down onto the cushion in his chair.

His mom would be happy about the football, but she wasn't going to like his other idea very much.

* * *

Tim got out of his truck and slammed the door shut. He slung his bag over his shoulder and grimaced as the pain radiated out of his shoulder and down his arm. Having to block for Smash on every series wasn't going to reduce the body ache after a game. It'd be gone soon enough, though…a couple of bottles of cold beer would take the edge right off.

He looked over at Jackie's house. He knew Billy was in there. He'd seen them at the game, sitting up in the stands together, Bo between his brother and Jackie. Guess now that Tim knew about them there would be no more hiding anything.

Damn both of them, Tim thought as he dropped his bag on the floor just inside the door. He walked over to open up the fridge and saw the pamphlet sitting on the counter where he had dropped it the other night. It was still half rolled up from the way he had wrapped his fingers around it after the pastor handed it to him as he was walking out of the church with Lyla.

_Finding Your Way in From the Wilderness_

Yeah, the wilderness of Dillon, Texas, where your brother fucks your ex-girlfriend and you…well, you fuck your best friend's girlfriend. And you fall in love with her.

Tim opened the beer and headed over to the recliner. He dropped down and sighed.

_People in glass houses shouldn't throw rocks._

Tim looked over at the silent television. It was his subconscious. He knew it.

_Turnabout is fair play, Timmy Riggins._

"Are you allowed to mock me?" Tim asked out loud. "Aren't you supposed to comfort me and take up my burdens?"

He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. "Can't you take this guilt away from me? Make it like it was…

"Forgive me," he whispered. "Forgive me for not stopping that tackle. For not being there for Jay. For being there for Lyla. For not wanting Billy to have what I can't. Just take this…take it from me. I can't carry the burden any longer."

Tim waited for the voice again. But it didn't come. But as he took another sip of beer he felt a calm wash over him.

Was that forgiveness or was it just a buzz from the beer?

* * *

"You're going where?" Joanne Street asked from the door of Jason's room as he pulled a few t-shirts from his drawer and put them in his duffle bag.

"Austin. I told you. Coach Taylor wants me to come down and look at their athletic management program at TMU. He said he could get me a job as a student coach if I went to college there. I could start at mid-year."

"And you're staying with him?" his mom asked.

Jason looked up at her and smiled. "Nah, he set me up with a student host. It's an accessible room, so I can check out the dorms. I'll have my phone if you need to get a hold of me. Don't worry."

"And what does Coach McGregor say about you just taking off?"

Jason paused, and looked down at his right hand, gripping a new pair of biking gloves—actually holding them, like a normal person "He thinks this would be a good growth opportunity for me."

Jason pulled open his desk drawer and started digging through the papers in the drawer.

"What're you looking for, hon?" his mom asked.

"Nothin' special," Jason replied as his fingers tightened around his passport. "Can you grab my pills from the bathroom?"

He watched to make sure his mom had disappeared from sight, then tucked his passport in his coat pocket. He'd call them as soon as he knew just how long he'd have to stay in Mexico.

* * *

Tim threw a pair of jeans in his backpack lying on his bed. He reached for his wallet and looked inside. Twenty bucks. Well, Street usually had money. He looked over at Jackie's house. He should probably call Billy and tell him he was leaving, or maybe leave a note. Or not.

Tim slung the backpack over his shoulder and headed for the living room. He paused, then went over and grabbed a couple of cold beers from the fridge. They were ready to roll.

"You got room for this in the cab?" Tim asked as he walked up to Jason's truck.

"Yeah, stick it behind the seats," Jason replied. "You can stick my chair in back."

Tim waited while Jason pulled himself into the truck, then lifted the chair into the bed of the truck. It was just like the first time they'd gone out after Jay's accident. All they were missing was Lyla.

"So, you quit?"

Jason looked over at Tim, then returned his eyes to the road. "Keep watching for deer, Riggins. We don't need to hit anything out here."

"I can drive, you know," Tim responded.

"I've got it," Jason replied. He looked down at the hand controls. Yeah, Tim probably could figure out how to drive the truck; all he had to do was just ignore the controls and drive it like he would his own truck. But Jason wanted to drive his own truck just because he could. He could still drive a truck. He could still control his life. He could still coach football, still be part of all of it.

"What did he say to you, Jay?"

Jason couldn't look at his friend, couldn't watch his face while he said McGregor's words out loud again. He saw the field road entrance coming up and pulled the truck over, skidding a bit on the gravel shoulder. He put the truck in park, but didn't turn it off.

"He called me a mascot."

"Asshole," Tim replied.

Jason laughed, but still looked forward. "I'm not sure you really know what that meant, Tim," Jason started. He could feel his throat closing up, his voice catching. "I teased her about it, but I liked that after I got hurt and the doctor said I'd never walk again that Lyla believed that I could get better. I thought if she believed it enough that it would be enough for both of us and it might actually happen.

"But it didn't. I went to rehab and I didn't walk. Heck, I couldn't even use my hands right and they had nurses who had to take care of me like I was a baby and nothing was ever going to be like it was again. But then Herc showed me rugby and I thought maybe that was the thing that was going to make things okay. And for a while it was."

Jason reached up and brushed away the tear that rolled down from his right eye.

"Six," Tim began.

"No, 'cause I ran into you that night and we hung out and there was magic down on that field again—my field, where I always knew who Jason Street was. 'Cause I'm not smart like Lyla and I'm not smooth with the ladies like you. I'm Jason Street and I could throw a football and that was it. And then I was Jason Street who could teach someone to throw a football and it wasn't like before, it wasn't perfect, but it wasn't bad either," Jason choked out, shocked by how the tears were coming. Unable to stop the emotion or the words, he continued on, "And then McGregor comes and he...he..."

"He cut your nuts off, Six," Tim replied.

Jason laughed, the tears still spilling from his eyes. He made one more attempt at brushing them away, then looked over at Tim and laughed again.

"I'm sorry, man," Tim answered. "Like I said, asshole."

Jason slumped over the steering wheel. "I can't do this anymore, Timmy. I can't pretend that things are going to be okay, 'cause they're never really going to be okay. If I can't walk again..."

"What they hell are you saying, Jay?" Tim asked quietly.

Jason looked over at Tim. Oh shit, he had scared Tim. Scared him bad. "No, I'm just saying, if there's a guy who can do something to help me walk again, I have to do it. No matter what."

"That's why I came, Six," Tim replied quietly. "That's why I want to help you do this. We can totally do this."

* * *

Tim sighed and reached down for the bottle of Coke he'd picked up when they had stopped for gas an hour ago. He took a sip, then looked over where Jason was sleeping in the passenger's seat.

Jason had been reluctant to give up the driver's seat, but Tim had finally pointed out that he could take over driving, they could pull over, or they could end up in the ditch because Jason was falling asleep. Tim, on the other hand, was well rested and surprisingly sober after a few hours without any additional beer.

He had picked Jason up and carried him around to the passenger side of the truck. He'd pulled the seat belt across Jay's chest, sliding it into the latch on the left.

"I can do my own seatbelt, you know," Jason had said.

"I've seen how long it takes you, Six," Tim had replied. "I'd like to get to Mexico before we're eligible for Social Security."

Jay could do just about everything, it seemed. He could still be Tim's friend—if Tim would let him. And that was really what mattered, wasn't it?

Tim wanted to believe it, but then some days he'd see Jason rolling his chair out onto the field instead of running out there with a helmet under his arm. And then Tim would catch a glimpse of Lyla sitting in the cafeteria with her new Jesus freak friends and it would come crashing back on him how much they all had changed—how much they all had lost.

Tim didn't know about any doctor in Mexico and what he could or couldn't do to help Jason, but he knew that he hadn't been able to get across that field last season. He didn't know if he could ever forget what had happened, but he could drive this truck with the funny gear stuff on the column down to Mexico and give Jay the best chance at a normal life since that kid hit him a year ago.

Shit. Tim looked up at the little calendar Jason had hanging in the front of his truck with red circles on most Saturdays—rugby days. One year ago. No wonder Jay had been so out of sorts.

_Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose_

Tim could hear them echoing the coach's call that night as they ran out of the locker room. Opening game last year was the last time that place had felt like home. After that it was always a little like his house after his mom was gone. It was never the same without Jay.

That's what made it so damned hard to put up with McGregor. He wasn't Taylor. He had never been Jay's coach and Tim could see the way he looked at Jason. Jason would be out there working with Saracen, making him more of a player than even Taylor would have been able to and McGregor would just have that look in his eye like Tim's dad used to have—_you're a nuisance boy and I'm just gonna tolerate you_.

Tim didn't want to work for McGregor. He'd only gone out for the team again to get Billy off his case and to spend time with Jason—to look out for him. Football was about him and Jason—being on the field together, working like a team. That just plain didn't exist any longer.

Jason stirred and stretched his arms out. "We almost there?"

"About an hour from the border," Tim replied.

"Good," Jason answered. "I'm pretty sure my butt hurts even though I can't feel it."

"You need to get out?" Tim asked, his voice filling with concern.

"Nah," Jason answered. "I just want to get there—get some answers."

Tim nodded. One year of not knowing when the circus ride was going to stop—it was time for both of them to get some answers.

_/fin/_


End file.
